


To Meet the Sun

by Experi



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Fluff without Plot, Gen, Multi, everyone loves sita, this fic drinks WOMEN APPREICATION JUICE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experi/pseuds/Experi
Summary: Nightingale brings Rama to Sita. Him being unconscious for this reunion is, in Nightingale's opinion, lackluster.Everyone appreciates Sita and Sita appreciates Nightingale.





	To Meet the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiniNephthys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniNephthys/gifts).



> this is for MiniNephthys, i hope you like it !! <3

There is some magic that must be performed after rescuing Sita from her captors, the assembled party knows that much. Whatever it is, however, is a mystery, and Nightingale takes it upon herself to boot everyone assembled out of the room she places Rama in with the explanation that medical procedures are best done without a crowd of onlookers. Never mind the argument that whatever procedure there may be probably will not be medical-- Ritsuka at least rationalizes that Sita may be better off without a peanut gallery and shepherds everyone but Nightingale out of the area. (Shepherding Nightingale away from her patient is a long-lost cause.) 

Rama is still slung over Nightingale’s back, though she seems as nonplussed by this as she’s always been, his weight apparently a complete non-issue to her. Now that they have arrived at the destination, she’s free to heft him off her shoulder. His breathing has been stable, though he’s been suspiciously quiet for the past hour or so. When he’s placed on the ground before her, Nightingale realizes why with a muted noise of surprise. “He seems to have fallen unconscious.” Now, that just won’t do, if her whole mission was to bring him to his wife alive. He  _ is _ alive, yes, but it seems a little lackluster for him to be out cold in front of her when she looked so excited to see him. Nightingale frowns and leans over Rama, musing the best way to try and bring him back around. Sits interjects, shaking her head.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Sita says, calm with only a slight hint of bittersweet tones underneath. She kneels before Rama anyways, her hands on his cheeks. Sita leans, places a kiss to the prince’s forehead. “We are fated to not meet until our deaths. I can save him, but I must give up myself first.” If this statement hurts her, it’s hard to tell. 

“No,” Nightingale replies abruptly. Sita looks up at her. “My duty is to protect the healthy, even if it means killing.”

Sita decides not to question that last clause. She just shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re bound by a curse. Even being able to see him like this is a blessing for me. It’s more important he return than I hang about or try to speak to him.”

Nightingale frowns, a cast of determination to her expression. “I have,” she assures Sita, “done  _ plenty _ of impossible things, and ‘ _ fate _ ’ and ‘ _ curses _ ’ are  _ not _ a part of my medical practice.” She shoulders he way in between Sita and Rama once more, bustling with a purpose that Sita decides she’s better off not trying to get in the way of or stop. So Sita just watches from over Nightingale’s shoulder as there’s a wet snapping noise, Nightingale grunts with effort, and shoves heavily on something Sita can’t distinguish.

There’s a sharp inhale of breath. Rama coughs heartily, then groans something about nurses that’s too garbled to otherwise understand. “There we go,” Nightingale says, sounding exceedingly satisfied. ‘ _ Curse _ ’, phooey. This is the modern age and curses have no business here. She hefts Rama up easily as he wheezes something-or-other at her. 

Nightingale brings him to the wall of the dungeon passage, paying no heed to Rama’s attempts to wriggle out of her grasp and reach for Sita, who he’s noticed is still here and has been staring at with the expression of a child at Christmas since.

“I’m sorry, I cannot leave the patient’s side,” Nightingale says as she props Rama against the wall. It’s almost an afterthought, the announcement, concentrated as she is on making sure he’s balanced properly and making minor adjustments to his clothes and the bandaging around his chest to presumably make him more presentable. Ensuring the patient is stable is the most important thing, after all-- even as Rama tries his best to shoo away her hands.

“It’s fine, Nightingale,” he tries to protest, but is cut off by Sita sitting next to him, leaning against his shoulder with obvious happiness. 

“Don’t worry, miss nurse,” Sita says. Without paying mind to Nightingale, she slides her hand over Rama’s cheek and tilts his head toward her so she can place a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You’ve already done so much for us.” She’s smiling now, as Rama leans his forehead against hers and holds his hand against her shoulder in as close a hug as he can get. She’s warm and soft and perfect, and even though he’s in pain and has spent the past few days having a nurse trying to manhandle his organs, it was worth it to be able to greet Sita once more. Rama makes a noise of agreement-- Sita’s right, whatever Nightingale has done is more than he could ever thank her for. For a little while, Sita is here with him.

Nightingale falls back from in front of him with the intent of offering at least a little space to the two of them. While Rama doesn’t pay much attention, enraptured as he is with Sita’s presence next to him, Sita latches onto the nurse’s expression. “Nightingale, right?” Nightingale nods in response-- medicine is her forte, not talking with the relatives of the ill. Sita continues on, the genuine feeling in her eyes impressing even Nightingale. “You must have worked so hard. And even if it’s for a short time, you’ve brought Rama and myself together. Truly, a wonderful medic.”

Nightingale’s gaze darts down to Sita’s hands instinctively (has she washed them recently? They’re both wearing gloves, no matter). Nightingale is still slightly self-conscious, a dusting of pink across her cheeks as Sita speaks. She’s so open and embodies the confusing middle ground between ‘an instrument to save another’, something Nightingale would take advantage of without hesitation, and ‘a person who cannot be saved’, a concept Nightingale feels obligated to reject out of hand.  “No,” Nightingale replies. “Any nurse would do the same for their patent.” 

Rama laughs now, and Nightingale flicks her stare to him. “Don’t undersell yourself,” he tells her, smiling wryly. “You did manage to deny two curses of Fate through sheer determination alone.” He’s more impressed than he appears, even through the toll that dying has been taking upon him. Sita is here, he can feel and see and hear her, despite that supposedly being an impossibility, and he’s still alive despite Berserker’s curse supposedly eating away his heart. It’s a testament to Nightingale’s determination more than his own and Rama is perfectly happy to concede that strength to her as he leans against Sita and basks in her presence. Sita releases Nightingale’s hands promptly to pet her husband’s hair lovingly, humming something non-specific and reminding Nightingale of a purring cat.

It lasts for a little while, where even Nightingale finds peace in the comfortable air about the other Servants, until Rama’s breathing becomes laboured once more. Nightingale notices as soon as the shift begins and turns to him sharply. She moves to say something, shoo interlopers away from her patient so she can unleash whatever hell she needs to fix him, but before she can do anything, Sita makes a noise of understanding. It distracts Nightingale, pulls both her and Rama’s attention to the Archer. Sita smiles fondly.

“Our time is coming to a close. But before I go--” Sita grabs Nightingale’s shoulders and pulls both her and Rama into a hug. “So long as we’re Servant, I can hope we’ll meet again in this life. And I won’t forget  _ you _ , either, nurse Nightingale.” She turns, and presses a kiss to Nightingale’s cheek (a potential contaminant! ...But somehow, Nightingale doesn’t mind it), then Sita kisses Rama full and on the lips.

And, still beaming and with her arms around the two Servants with her, Sita is engulfed in a warm golden light that fades into Rama. The blackened and bleeding wound fades away and colour comes back to Rama’s face.

It’s still warm around him and Nightingale, like they had been sitting in the sun rather than in a stone basement. Nightingale looks down at her hands, confused.

“That was…”

“She’s like that, huh?” Rama turns and smiles toothily at Nightingale. (He looks younger now, she thinks, more like the young man he is rather than a dying soldier.) “She’s the kind of girl I don’t mind spending my whole life chasing after. I can’t even be sad that she left so soon, I haven’t gotten to talk to her in--” Rama cuts himself off with a laugh. “Ages, probably. I’m glad you got to meet her, too.” He doesn’t even sound sad that she’s gone for now, and Nightingale isn’t sure if it’s that he genuinely  _ isn’t _ , or if the warm feeling in her chest is in his as well and is a side effect of Sita’s dissolution. (It’s strange to her; she assumes maybe it was something she was more familiar with in life, but the comfortable fondness she feels is an utter  _ mystery _ now. A mystery she could maybe get used to, though. It’s probably not infectious.)

She nods anyways. “...I am, too.” Nightingale’s almost surprised by how genuinely she means that. “And now my patient is cured.”

To emphasize the point, Rama raises his fist in a show of vigor. “Ha! Yes, now I can raise my sword to aid you all.” And to Nightingale-- “You especially.”

Nightingale laughs quietly, shaking her head in resignation. Soldier will be soldiers, no matter what. “I suppose I can allow it, yes.” She feels like, as if she were in the room, Sita too is cheering them on. It's encouragement as much as anything; they'll both carry this warmth with them now. (And with that strength, of course they'll save this land, Nightingale's sure of it.)

**Author's Note:**

> if u want a fic from me, feel free to ask on twit, @ dezembrists


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